


Side by Side

by lollercakes



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hunger Games Holiday Exchange 2013, The Hanging Tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollercakes/pseuds/lollercakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met up at midnight and we were both set free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where they strung up a man they say murdered three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexabeewrite](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Alexabeewrite).



> Huge crazy big thanks to Jennagill who pumped out this beta project and provided much-needed canon guidance for some things. Couldn't have done it without her. As always, credit to the author and specific reference to the lyrics of The Hanging Tree. Hope you like it!

“They finally did it! Finally put that Seam trash where it belongs and you know, Margaret, that girl had it coming plain and simple. Grew up just like her Papa, turning her nose up at the law and giving us all a bad name for living in this filthy coal town. I just _cannot_ believe they caught her at the fence! With three squirrels! You’d think she’d at least have the brains to give them to that boy she’s always laying around with. Good riddance to her, at least we’ll get a show out of it and have some entertainment! I am just appalled she’s lasted this long. My biggest problem is that Farl will be so upset – he did love those squirrels, you know.”

A bag drops to the floor in the front of the bakery and my mother’s harsh words stop like the beat of my heart in my chest.

“Oh Margaret! You’re just like your mother! Always dropping things and making a mess.” Her pitch goes higher and if I weren’t so distracted I probably would have noticed that she’s openly condemning my friend Madge for having a mother that suffers an illness nobody can diagnose.

Mother did always hate the Undersee family.

“Mrs Mellark, I am so sorry! I was lost in thought and just let go! Please, let me clean it up,” Madge’s voice rings true and I can hear them scraping the floor for the goods she’s dropped while my mother huffs and sighs heavily at the effort.

All around me things go fuzzy and dull. I can’t pull myself together, not as the fear caused by mother’s earlier words still echoes loudly in my head.

 _That girl. Seam Trash. Squirrels_.  

No. It can’t be true. I won’t believe it.

I can’t ask. I need to ask. I need to _know_.

“Hey Peeta.” Madge’s solemn voice breaks me from the haze that has coated my insides and muddied my mind. I’m not sure how I ended up standing at the half-door to the kitchen, instead of at the counter where the dough lay still unprepared. But then, here I am, staring at Madge as she slowly stands up with her brown bag of goods clenched tightly in her fist. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth.

“What are you doing, fool boy? Are all of the orders prepared for Saturday already?” Mother sneers at me, tucking the dustpan back around the counter. My gaze never leaves Madge’s though and I can hear the blood roaring in my ears. “Well?”

The click of mother’s fingers snapping at me draws my attention and I frown. “Almost – I had a question – “

“I should be going. Father will want to see the Everdeen’s tonight before the Head Peacekeeper review and I’ll need to help him with the paperwork.” Madge interrupts.

I feel faint.

“Peeta!” Mother yells at me and Madge gives me a sad smile.

She’s answered my question. Voiced my biggest fear.

Not _Katniss_.

“I uh – “  The words dry up in my mouth and I choke on my own saliva.

The clap to the side of my head makes my ears ring for a different reason. “Boy, you better get back to work before I have to _put you there_!”

Madge no longer stands at the door. She’s gone. Left. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here with my knuckles white on the solid wood before me, my knees ready to buckle and my mother scowling at me with a rage I’ve never understood.

“Fuck you,” I curse and turn away, stalking to the rear kitchen door and disappearing into the cold fall air without the warmth of my jacket or the breath in my lungs.

Mother screams after me.

I don’t know what to do or where I’m going or what will happen next. I’ve never seen this happen before – not here. Head Peacekeeper Cray has never punished anyone severely for their hunting – hell, the man _buys_ their goods. I stew in my thoughts as I walk, my feet slapping the ground with every frustrated and fearful step.

How do I save her? This girl I’ve barely spoken to. This girl I know for a fact, a fact I can prove by opening my freezer, is guilty as charged and will likely hang for her will to survive?

How will _I_ survive without her?

The cold keeps me moving until I’m standing at the edge of the Seam, my skin red from the exposure as I stare into the part of town that has forced so many to behave so desperately. As I look upon the black coal that edges the cracked buildings a heavy gasp escapes my chest and my eyes prick with the burn of unshed tears.

Katniss, how did you get caught? Why would you do something so foolish?

Why don’t you know how much you mean to me? The thought makes me ill. I’ve wasted so many years on waiting until the Reaping couldn’t catch us and we were so close.

“Katniss,” the moan whispers from my lips and I have to lean against a ragged tree that stands broken and cracked.

None of my thoughts remain focused and I stand there, motionless, for too many minutes to count. When finally my body is able to summon itself to head towards home I have to ignore the stiffness of my joints and how the cold has seeped into my bones.

I should have told her all these years how I felt. I need to save her somehow, convince Cray that I have something better to offer, that this punishment doesn’t fit the bill. It was a matter of survival – he must understand that. I can make an argument and a trade. He has to listen. Even if I have to beg.

Upon returning home, the beating I receive for abandoning my work and spoiling three trays of dough barely breaks into the measure of pain I feel that night in my heart. In more ways than one, the belt lashings are received as punishment for not saving her sooner, not telling her how I feel.

I know that the burn of the lash will mean nothing compared to the pain that’s coming for me.

* * *

“Hey! Girl! You stop!”

Chills run down my spine as I slip my right leg out from underneath the fence. My palms are sweaty, my boots caked in mud and filth from my time amongst the trees. The blood from my kills still clings to my fingers like brutal evidence. I stare at my hands, frozen in place, until the large white-gloved hand comes crashing onto my shoulder.

I could have run but then I’d have been shot dead on the spot.

No, I’ve been caught and there’s no way around it. Not lying, or begging, or running. I’ve been caught red handed, literally, by the Peacekeeper watch and now my family will starve.

“This is the third time, girl. Thought we told you to quit it or we’d have to bring the hammer down.” Darius’ familiar voice hisses against my ear and I cringe. He’s always let me off before but this time is different, there’s something harsh to his words now, like he’s putting on a facade.

“She’s been caught and whipped already?” A second new voice comes from behind me, one I don’t recognize as Darius starts pushing me forward roughly. “Poaching on Capitol land is punishable by death for the second incident, Peacekeeper Bolan.  How is this her third time?”

My mind flashes back to when Cray had caught me amongst the trees with a Capitol scouting team, something to do with examining the mines. He’d let me go with a threat, telling me I’d be required to show to the whipping post once the team had gone.

The threat had never followed through.

The second time, I’d received two measly lashes, proof of punishment but nothing as severe as what I’d expected. A public spectacle made that even young girls aren’t safe from the post. The scars were mere fading marks now but they never ceased to incense Gale on another anti-Capitol rant.

None of that would help me now.

“Special circumstances, ma’am. We best take her in and wait for the new Head to get here before we make any decisions.” Darius cuts into my thoughts with his words and I nearly snap my neck twisting around to meet his gaze.

“New Head? What happened to Cray?” I ask breathlessly as my last hope for mercy diminishing. I could have worked a deal with Cray. Now...Now I don’t know what I’m going to do and the heavy cloak of shock begins to set in.

I should have run.

“Found dead last night in his bed – “

“Bolan, stop your gossip. I may be new here but I’m not going to take disgrace for your violations, let’s get her to this pitiful district’s lockup and wait for the new installation to get here for her sentencing.” 

No other words are spoken between us as I’m lead through the Seam, my neighbours peeking their eyes out from between closed cuts of cloth that double as curtains. They all know that this won’t end well for me but still it’s barely sunk in.

I should fight. I should run. I should escape.

Stepping through the doors of the Justice Building, I finally feel the walls start to close in on me as the shock begins to wear off.

“Darius, please!” I hiss, my fingers reaching for his arm as he opens the door to the cellar.

“Stop!” The new girl shouts abruptly and I feel her club catch me in the back of the knees, bringing me down forcefully as I yelp out from the sharp pain.

“Peacekeeper Raist, you are new here – “ Darius scorns, lifting me back to my feet and pushing me through the hallway, “But this girl is from this district and we will treat her by the book until told otherwise. Do you understand?” His words surprise me with their authority and I barely realize that we’re standing at the end of a dingy hallway with barred cells on either side of us.

“Understood.” Riast responds quietly.

“Everdeen,” I turn towards Darius and catch sight of his familiar rusty hair in the dim light and the lack of smile on his usually grinning face. “The new Head is expected in the next week or so. Until that time you are being held for suspected poaching on Capitol lands and will remain here under watch – is that clear?” My vision begins to blur at his words, the whole truth of what’s happening crashing in on me like an old Seam house under too many years of holding steady. My nod of understanding is like a hammer coming down on a nail, sealing me to my fate.

Without any further words spoken, I’m lead into the lonely cell on the end of the block where only a thin mattress lay on the floor next to a silver toilet. Darius closes the door to the cell, locking it quickly and disappearing with Raist down the hallway.

I stand there, staring at the locked metal bars, the quiet dripping of water somewhere near me the only sound to keep me company.  


	2. Where the dead man called out for his love to flee

Another tray of food on a metal platter slides across the floor towards me but I don’t move to grab it. What’s the point of eating if I’m already dead?

I’ve lain on this mattress since being brought here...I don’t know how many hours ago. I’ve lost track of the time, the only sign of the time passing is the small bit of sunlight I can see sliding across the brick wall through the small window of my cell. It’s like a vicious reminder that I’ll never see the sun rise or set again. I won’t have the chance to walk through the forest and feel it’s warmth on my face.

I’m cold and cried out.

There’s nothing left within me.

I wonder about my family, have they been told what’s coming for me? Do they know?

Will I see them before they kill me?

I try not to think about that, about Prim being left to her own devices as Mom sinks back into herself. I try not to think about how they won’t make it through the winter, that Prim still has so many years left at the Reaping Bowl, that they’re alone.

I hope that Gale will help them.

I wish he’d been there to help _me_ , not in the mines. But then, I know that that’s a foolish wish – if he’d been there we would have been killed on sight because he would have fought.

I should have let them kill me. I should have fought for my life and the life I never got to live.

Curling in tighter to myself to fight against the cold, I hiccup a sob into my fists and try not to think about all of the things that I won’t ever get to do – the things that I’d never truly let myself think about before. It hurts. When I finally come around again I notice first the flies buzzing around the uneaten trays of time past. Soon the reek of the rotting food will sting my nostrils. I wonder if I’ll even notice.

Does it matter?

My stomach clenches tightly, a strong staccato of hunger that rings so familiar to seasons past. I haven’t felt it in months, almost a year, not with my hunting keeping us afloat and keeping food in our bellies. But that’s all gone now.

I let the hunger begin to consume me along with my slowly ebbing grasp on reality.

Sometime later, as the sun begins to fade against its corner pocket in my cell I hear the scuff of boots on loose gravel. I blink, my ears alert to the sound but my body refusing to budge. I can’t tell where it comes from, the sound growing steadily closer and yet bouncing off the walls. My body tenses, fully expecting an assault to come any moment for me.

I’m not ready yet.

“ _Please_ ,” I croak wearily, quietly.

I don’t want to die yet.

The sound of a paper bag hitting cement has my eyes flicking around my dimming cell, searching for the sound and its origin as my body vibrates. The boots scuff louder and move quickly now, fading away as the sun sets even further.

That’s when I see it. The floor, near the window, a white bag lay filled with something I can’t quite make out. Inside my chest my heart thuds weakly against my ribs as I take in the sight.

Slowly, carefully, I crawl towards the package to examine its contents, terrified of its potential tricks but sad curiosity far outweighing the fear. Has Gale brought me something? He would risk himself for me. But why? I’d rather him distance himself and save my family.

“Bread?” My hands tremble against the paper and the warm loaf that’s tucked within.

The feelings inside of me rush through my blood in a mad fury, indescribable and vicious, until I cast the package to the other side of the cell and curl up against the cement wall as though it were an animal that had me cornered.

This kindness, this savior, has me crying again into my palms, no end in sight.

* * *

Father doesn’t comment on the limp to my gait as I move around the kitchen the next day. It isn’t unusual for him to stay silent – he’s heard my biting pain for years now but has failed to do anything about it. I try not to let it get under my skin – not today, not anymore.

Instead I move about my business, prepping the orders and glazing the pastries as they finish baking. I do it monotonously, silently.

I don’t know if there’s much left in me, to be honest.

I barely slept the night before, not because of the lashings or the pain that scarred my skin, but because of the coming fact that things were happening and I was helpless. Desperately my mind spent the hours turning over feasible plans in my head and hoping for _something_ that could make the Peacekeepers change their minds.

Because it needed to happen.

“Peeta,” Father calls to me and I turn, careful not to wince as I cross my arms over my chest. Smiling sadly at me, he ducks his head as though acknowledging what he won’t say aloud. “I heard about the Everdeen girl –“

“Don’t.” I gasp, the word escaping my lips before I’ve even thought it through. If there was one person in this world who had any idea of my feelings for Katniss, it was undoubtedly my Father. He _knew_ and I can’t bear his excuses right now. Not anymore.

“I just – “

“Leave it alone,” I request and turn back to the table, dismissing the subject altogether. Behind me his shoes scuff the floor before he turns back to the ovens and the clattering of pans returns to the room.

Letting out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, I settle in for the rest of the morning and silently complete my work. When noon rolls around and Rye takes over, I disappear into my room upstairs, shutting the door tightly before collapsing onto the bed with a groan.

I’ve come up with no feasible plan to see her released, at least not one that will help more than hinder. Circling back around in my thoughts I return to the idea of begging Cray for mercy or providing him with a trade. I know I own nothing of interest to him, but I can’t argue that it isn’t worth a visit just in case.

As the evening begins to unfold and the bakery below closes, I set my weak plan into action and step lightly down the stairs. I know that no one will miss me at dinner – they never do after an incident with Mother. Finding my way through the unlit kitchen I pull on my boots and retrieve two loaves of bread from the dry storage area. Once outside, I make off quickly in the direction of the Justice Building, my footsteps heavy in the quiet din that fills the district each night.

When I draw near and take in the rotation of the Peacekeepers as they make their rounds, I attempt to lean casually against a distant building before they disappear out of sight.

Finding the right cell is hard and makes my nerves scream as I bend to each window looking for some trace of life. The memory of doing this as a child with my friends, a high-level dare, makes the act bittersweet as I’m thankful for the familiarity despite its current use.

The act of loitering around the Justice Building has always been forbidden by the Peacekeepers. Regular intervals of checks and security have district citizens keeping their distance on purpose. Approaching the building, coming too close or getting caught, only leads to suspicion of the highest level, usually ending with a public condemnation, or, as Father once told me, a whipping for a crime undeserving.

The first pass along the bank of windows yields nothing and my steps grow heavy with defeat as I realize this will be harder than I imagined. It isn’t until the third pass on the far side of the building that I catch a glint of silver through the thick metal bars and draw in closer to see it as a tray of uneaten food. There’s no sign of life that I can witness, no limbs or shadows and for a moment I can’t help the hope that I’m not too late.

They wouldn’t have done anything so soon. They wouldn’t.

The sound of mumbled voices in the near distance has the hair on my arms rising.

It’s now or never.

Dropping one of the loaves between the bars quickly, I step as lightly as I can away from the building and weave myself back into the houses surrounding the square. When I’m finally far enough that I feel in the clear, I let out the breath I’d been holding, my mind clinging to the hope that I’d chosen correctly.

Now comes the hard part, I have to remind myself.

Walking quickly, I come upon Cray’s house before the evening line of women even starts. Knowing the old man’s preference for young and desperate girls, my plan to get here before his attentions were otherwise occupied was undoubtedly a good choice. Going through my lines once more in my head and squeezing the remaining trade loaf of bread in my grip, I raise my hand to the door and knock heavily.

No answer comes.

Knocking again, harder, I look around at the close Peacekeeper barracks and frown. When still no response comes I step back from the porch and try not to panic.

“Cray?” The sound breaks loose from me and I look up to the windows above for any sign of light. They remain dark in the oncoming night, motionless in their casings. My plans begin to swirl around in my mind, much like water heading down a drain, as I try to reason where the man is. For as long as he has been Head, he has been home before dusk, never straying from his house during the evening hours that he regards as his only time of peace.

I’m baffled and near undone. He is my last hope.

Instead of retreating home, I make myself comfortable on his front stoop, determined to wait him out in the event that he’s simply ignoring another district problem that he refuses to face. It wouldn’t be unheard of. That’s what I convince myself of.

Until a trio of Peacekeepers arrive, unfamiliar faces, that have their guns drawn on me.

“What’re you doing here boy?” The oldest one barks, nudging a step closer to me than the others. With my hands outstretched in defence, I stutter, my words stuck in my throat. “Well?”

“Cray – I came to see Cray.” My voice cracks on his name, fear and nerves bouncing within me. The trio only laughs, lowering their weapons to face the ground.

“Go home boy, try to learn something. Old man Cray is dead.”

The feeling as though a boot has hit my gut has me stumbling off Cray’s porch and onto the dirt path I’d come from.

“Dead?” I whisper, my eyes wide.

“As a doornail. New head here for a show hopefully by the end of the week. Deal with your problems then. Now get on, get out of here before I have to shoot you for trespassing!” The same man shouts and though my body wishes to collapse on the ground my feet carry me away at a run.

I’m not sure whether I’m running away, or towards, something that I’m afraid I can’t control. 


	3. Where I told you to run so we’d both be free

Every evening I return with a new loaf of something, a new good that didn’t sell or day-old bread that is bordering on stale. The type of thing that Mother won’t count or that Father won’t notice. I want it to give her hope; I want it to be something that she can rely on so that she knows someone is out here.

Like that time in the rain, so long ago now.

Every evening I watch the Peacekeepers make their rounds, slipping over to the cell where I know Katniss remains locked up. Each time I drop it down to her I can’t help listening for any movement or recognition. Any sign that she’s still living, still breathing.

While days pass on I never let my hope diminish. I realize that something more would have happened – we would have heard about something so atrocious – and so I continue to deliver. Sometime later, as I scuff my feet along the gravel while I retreat, I think for just a moment that I hear singing, an old tune that rings eerily familiar. I don’t go back though; I can’t risk it, not with the Peacekeepers circling the building like vultures waiting on their next kill.

Along with the death of Cray, it hasn’t taken much to notice that new Peacekeepers have arrived in the district. I don’t know why, but I can only assume it has to do with the real reports of the poaching and crime that happens here finally reaching back to the Capitol and the new Head that is being dispatched. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from listening in on Mother’s gossip.

With the crackdown on the law the number of cells with guests seems to have risen tenfold. Katniss was only the first in what seems to be a waterfall of the Hob being taken down one block at a time.

It doesn’t shock me then so much when Madge bursts through the door late one day and gasps out that the Hob is on fire.

It was only a matter of time.

What does surprise me though is when the Seam, with its dreary blackened buildings and its coal stained roads, seems to catch fire with it. The old rusted buildings topple as the district watches, the flames reaching upwards and lashing out at nearby houses.

Too many people are left without homes that night. Too many people in the cold and desperate for shelter and food.

That night Mother barricades the door and it’s the first time I can’t escape to give Katniss her hope.

I spend the night sketching in my room, the blinds closed to keep the sights away from me. It only seems to work for so long before I’m consumed by the trouble that is following me and I have to grasp at my hair to steady myself.

I should have spoken to her in school. Should have given her more than that burnt loaf when I had the chance. I’d known for years that she’d struggled, known how her ribs had poked at her threadbare shirts in the winter. And yet I’d done nothing.

Crawling into my bed I pull the blanket over my head and let myself be consumed by the furious anger that I feel inwardly. The familiar sting of tears returns and I exhaust my body with its consumption before I slip into sleep.

 _“Don’t go too far_ , _” Katniss’ smooth voice calls out across a glowing green meadow. Before me is a child, still young and bouncing with life, that skims the tree line. The smile creeps to my lips and the feeling engulfs me, warming me, as I look over and find Katniss smiling back at me._

_“How are you here?” I ask quietly, my hand finding its way to the leaf that’s snared in the braid resting on her shoulder. She wears her familiar hunter’s jacket, too big in the shoulders and dirtied with flecks of blood. She looks fresh from a hunt._

_“I’ve always been here. You just never called to me before,” she replies vaguely and tilts her head, exposing the span of neck that I long to brush with my fingers._

_But her neck isn’t the smooth skin that I remember seeing as I snuck glances at her in school. Across her collar and upwards, a red marring crisscross of lines has reddened it viciously._

_“What happened?” I shout, surprise and terror lacing through me as my hand slides down to her neck. My thumb ghosts over the enraged skin, the feeling tight and hot. “Katniss, what happened?”_

_“It’s okay now. Look, look at what we have now.” She soothes and her fingers upon my chin turn my face towards the child running blissfully before us._

_“But – this, it’s not –“_

_“Peeta, we can have this. Look at what we can have. Run with me. Let’s be free together.” The words die on my lips, my gaze turning from the child and back to her. I sink into the grey depths of her eyes, her hand resting over my heart. “Come visit me at midnight and we can both be free.”_

I break from my dream in a jolt, my skin clammy and my heart racing. I know what was in my dream wasn’t real – I know that – but I can’t help the feeling that something is happening, that something is changing.

Looking towards the small clock with its cracked face I take in the hour. Eleven thirty.

“Katniss,” I whisper and the sound floats before me as though hovering in a cloud like fog on a winter’s day.

I need to see her. I need to make amends before it’s too late.

* * *

I’m tracking the days by the deliveries of the bread. It’s all I have left. I think I know who it is now – that same boy who gave me hope all those years ago. Peeta Mellark.

Damn him.

Today my family came to see me. Prim in her faded wool sweater and Mom just barely hanging on. They wouldn’t even let me past the bars for my final goodbye so instead we held hands and sat together for the hour they let us be. I think even by their standards that hour was generous.

When it was finally time to go I couldn’t bear it. I turned away and sat in my corner, rocking myself gently as Prim screamed and Mom moaned while the Peacekeepers who I’ve never seen before removed them from the hallway.

Later that night, singing softly to myself, I wait for the footsteps to come and I pause, hoping for some sign that it’s him, for anything that would give me something worth continuing on for, but the bread comes without a sound and all I can do is continue to sing softly to myself for comfort.

Morning comes by the light on stone and another tray slides between the metal that holds me captive. I’ve stopped eating now, even the bread sits untouched below the window like a shrine.

I wish for death to come quickly.

But still it drags on. The hours creep by and the hunger that once plagued me seems to shrink to sheer nothingness. I only long to go back in time, to have avoided being caught for something so petty. I’d even beg to go back and join Gale in his musings about an uprising he’d longed for ages ago.

At least if that had come about, we’d either be better off or already dead.

I guess both arguably could set me free.

For hours I sing, small hymns and little lullabies that once hushed me to sleep. Above the lilt of my voice I take little notice of the people joining me in these cells. They scream and shout, cry and beg. I don’t know what has caused the influx but it’s unable to sway me from my internal thoughts.

Time is spent imagining a scenario where that bread set my family apart and we were able to finally get ahead. Prim grew meat on her bones and shivered less through the winter months. Mom came out from under her spell and held me close on the anniversary of the explosion that killed my father. All of these things I imagine to be true, to keep me company, as the cell block grows louder and the suffering begins to envelope me.

I almost don’t hear it then when a voice calls to me from the window.

In my delirium, the name that escapes my chapped and dehydrated lips is not the one I _know_ to be at my window, but a familiar one.

“Catnip?”

“Peeta?”

There’s a silence and I know I’ve wounded him.

Of course Gale would come to me. I wished he’d come so much sooner.

“I’m going to get you out of there, Catnip. Things are crazy up here. I’ll get you out and we can get to the forest – escape from here. I promise you that. I’ve already taken our families to the lake – we can’t stay here. They’ve burned the Hob, Kat, down to the ground.” Gale’s voice shatters me inside but I’ve no tears left to cry for my family.

Moving weakly to my feet, I stand at the base of the window and toss the latest loaf of bread towards him.

“Take it Gale. I’m not long for here but you can keep them safe. Promise me you’ll keep them safe.” The rasp in my voice hurts as I speak though I’m not too sure that it’s the rasp more than the dry texture of my throat.

“I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you here to them.” He insists.

The anger in me flares. I can send him away. I need to. I need to save my family if it’s all I ever do from this place where I will rot.

“Gale I won’t survive this. You need to leave me behind. We will never be together and you can’t stop this. You never could.” The words are clear and strong. Leave. _Leave_.

Above me the scraping of boots has me looking upward with tired surprise to find an arm, a hand, reaching down towards me.

“Kat, _please_ ,” he whispers and I barely hear it over the roar of sadness around me.

“I need you to go. Take care of them.” Brushing my fingers against his lightly as a final goodbye I step back and return to my corner, a bittersweet song of friendship coming to my lips until finally the arm removes itself from my window and disappears.

 The night drags on ahead, the sounds from those locked up with me slowly disappearing as they drift off to their own places. Throughout the hours I flutter in and out of sleep, my body fighting to stay awake for more than it can manage.

“Katniss? Katniss Everdeen?” My name is called out, a sound amongst the wind. It comforts me in my state, soothing me and surrounding me. “Are you still there Katniss?” The voice.

 _The voice_.

“Peeta?” I ask hesitantly, my starved body after so many days slow to move back to the window. I gave all my energy to Gale and saved none for the boy who has given me everything.

“Katniss? Is that you?” His voice cracks and falters as though his first few words to me are monumental.

And I guess they are.

Save me once, fool on you. Save me twice, fool on me. Three times? Not possible.

“Why have you come?” The words plead from my lips. “Why now? Why so late?” My muddy mind can’t fathom why he didn’t come sooner. Before the bread, before the cells and the crimes and the starvation. Why had he not come to me sooner? When this... I can’t bear to mention it. “Why?” I ask and my voice is thick with the welling of tears and frustration as I weakly throw one of the packages he’s left me back at him.

I’ve been lured and trapped with him. Bound to pay him back and now... Now he’s done it again.

The bag of bread collides with the metal bars, somehow working its way between them and out into the open once again.

I want it back. I want what he’s given me back. What have I done?

The lack of response, the silence, kills me as I wait for his next words and wipe the drying tears from my cheeks.

“Peeta?” I sound pathetic, so unlike myself, as I stumble to the wall and reach upwards towards the hope that this boy has time and time again brought me. He must hear something in my voice, maybe the pleading need for something, because above me I hear the rustle of fabric and then his hand comes towards me, bloodied and bruised.  I don’t hesitate to take it, like a lifeline flung towards me, and press his fingers to my forehead.

The quiet stretches on, so many words unspoken, as I hold onto hope that something can come from this.

“I needed to – “  He starts but never finishes, the sound of a shot and boots rushing towards us. Not a moment longer and his hand is wrenched from my grasp, pulled out in a tangle of bone cracking against unrelenting metal. He screams, the sound echoing against the cement as he’s dragged away.

“Put him down.” A gruff voice commands in the distance and something moves swiftly in the night.

And then silence.

My hope vanishes. My knees collapse.


	4. Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me

Cold dawn comes quickly after that, the temperature dropping as the thin rays of light eek in from the bars of my window. I’m surprised that reprimand hasn’t come sooner for what happened throughout the night.

Did it even happen? Have I imagined it?

I’m convinced that it did, I remember the warm feel of his skin against mine, the tenor of his voice.

I try not to think about what he had meant to say. I can’t think about that now. Not now, not ever.

“Katniss Everdeen?” A harsh voice calls me from my cell door. I remain frozen in my corner, my arms wrapped tightly around my knees as the shadow from the body looms behind me. “Get up girl, Peacekeeper Thread has passed sentencing.”

* * *

“I needed to – “ The words are ripped from my throat as I hear the Peacekeepers sound the alarm. _I needed to tell you that I’ve always loved you_. I wished the words to come, to dislodge from their home in my throat and move down to her beyond these walls. But instead I’d struggled, like I always have, too afraid of her reaction and so unsure of myself and what she was really asking me.

I don’t think I even knew the answers myself – why had I come? Yes to tell her I love her, but what good would it do now? Why had I waited?

Regret fills me as I feel the arms grab at my shoulders. I consider fighting, consider rounding on them and trying to escape, but I know that in this moment there’s nothing I’d rather do than keep my hand in Katniss’. I refuse to give it up until they wrench me backwards, my arm tangling in the metal bars of the window and snapping the bone with a slick crunch.

I scream.

I struggle.

Not for my life though this time, but to keep holding her hand.

The moment seems hazy, the butt of a gun taking me down hard and making my world go black.

* * *

I’m lead down the hallway, familiar voices from the Hob calling out to me, inaudible gasps and small cries of injustice. One or two hands are raised, three fingers held up as a sign of solidarity, as a goodbye.

“Peacekeeper Thread is bringing proper justice to District 12, Miss Everdeen. You’ve been caught, on numerous records, poaching on Capitol land and participating in illegal trade. Due to these charges, sentencing requires the death penalty.” The man leading me repeats my charges once more, explaining where we are going and what will happen.

I wish he’d stop.

I wish it would all just stop.

The guard brings me forth into the square in front of the Justice Building, the center of the District and the court in which the Reaping is held each year. Before me a new addition stands, recently built and towering over the shops is a gallows, a structure I’ve only seen in history books from the Dark Days.

It isn’t the gallows though that makes the bile rise in my throat, nor is it the fact that I’m being brought to my death.

* * *

When I wake up, I see my Mother and Father standing before me, my Mother’s face masked with disappointment.

Did she find the shards of glass from the window I’d broken with my fist to escape tonight?

My Father on the other hand looks downright distraught, barely able to make eye contact with me.

That’s when I realize then that I can’t feel my arms. The shock of consciousness begins to wear off and the searing pain, hot and vicious, streaks down my body until I’m on fire with it. I’m strung up by my wrists, held high on a platform as my family looks onward, motionless and unwilling to save me.

I’d call out to them but it’s useless. I’m already gone to them, I was when I first heard of Katniss’ fate, I just didn’t realize it.

“Peeta Mellark, you have been caught in an attempt to aid and release a Capitol-bound prisoner. As new Head Peacekeeper, party to your capture and witness to your crime, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging as per standard laws and practices of Capitol sanctions. Do you understand these charges?” I scan the small crowd that has gathered before my eyes look upon the weathered man clad in the white standard Peacekeeper uniform. He smiles bitterly, as though he doesn’t mind inflicting these punishments at all.

“Does it matter?” I croak, my last bit of defiance causing him to lash out with a fist. The crowd gasps and then stills before us.

“Any last words?”

* * *

_“Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_  
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three.   
Strange things did happen here   
No stranger would it be   
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.   
  
“Are you, are you   
Coming to the tree   
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.   
Strange things did happen here   
No stranger would it be   
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.   
  
“Are you, are you   
Coming to the tree   
Where I told you to run so we’d both be free.   
Strange things did happen here   
No stranger would it be   
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.   
  
“Are you, are you   
Coming to the tree   
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.   
Strange things did happen here   
No stranger would it be   
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.”

The song comes to me so easily, it’s old words ringing true as I take in the sight of Peeta Mellark strung up before me. I’d known last night as he was pulled from my grasp that it was coming to a head but I had never imagined, never thought...

I don’t feel anything as the lyrics leave my lips, the old rebel song giving me last moments of comfort. When I’m placed on the stage, the noose pulled over my head, the song finished and my last words requested I scan the crowd for the family I know is not there. They’re safe. It’s time.

No words are spoken as the bag is placed over my face, cutting out the sight of Peeta’s limp body.

The trap below is released and I fall knowing that we will forever be side by side.


End file.
